Love at First Kill
by hardlythend
Summary: A girl, a boy, a tragic past. Their hearts once connected, now split apart and vying for return. Set in the setting of Team Fortress 2, where being a female is forbidden, and one young woman's bravery will write her fate amongst a world of men. Sniper x OC
1. The Start of Something New

"**Keef, Keef, look what I can do!**"

The sweet, cheerful voice of eleven-year-old Samantha Hemmings filled the air as she ran around the large, Spring-blessed meadow with her best friend and guardian, Keith Murray. She had a small, toy bow in one hand and a plastic arrow in the other hand, giggling hysterically with joy as she attempted to shoot at the laid-back, sixteen-year-old adolescent, who lifted a hand to block the arrow from hitting his face with a smirk. Samantha pouted, wailing, "That's not fair! Can't you just _pretend_ I can shoot at you?"

Keith chuckled, his genuine Australian accent clear and music to the child's ears as he spoke, "Nope. You just have'ta practice, sweetness." He got a kick out of watching her face turn from slightly annoyed to completely peeved. She crossed her arms with a "hmph!".

"You _know_ I hate it when you call me that. You _know_ it!" She accused him, thrusting her tiny index finger forward to poke his nose, when all of a sudden, he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her into the air, her sharp squealing piercing his ears, but he didn't care. All he ever wanted in life was to make her happy.

"Aw, I'm sorry, love. You ain't mad at me, are 'ya?"

"Put me down!"

"Not until you say you aren't mad at me."

"Keef, I'm scared of heights!"

"Nope. And quit calling me 'Keef', you know what my real name is."

"Yeah, but I can't say it! It's too hard!"

Keith slowly lowered her to rest on his chest and stared directly into her green eyes, which were hidden by her brown-ish black bangs. Her hair was always messy, and he learned to accept it. While most girls were interested in make-up, dolls, and braiding each other's hair, Samantha was the polar opposite. She always loved to fight, and it showed.

"It's Kee-th". He waited for a few seconds, watching as her face slightly contorted in concentration. He had to bite his lip to stifle a laugh.

"Mm… K-Keeth…?"

"Keith."

"Keith?" He nodded.

Samantha's face lit up like a kid's on Christmas morning. "Keith!"

"That's right, kiddo. Now let's get you ho-" He began to speak before he was suddenly cut off, the little girl's arms wrapping around his neck and her cheek pressed against his, gently nuzzling. He widened his eyes and sat there, frozen.

"Keith…"

His lips pulled up into a smile and he returned the embrace as best he could, seeing how small she was.

"_That's right, Samantha. I'll never leave ya'. I promise._"

* * *

The faint sound of a train slowing to a stop filled her mind as she slowly opened her eyes. Her breath escaped her lips in a smoky haze, and she wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. As the large men around her slapped each other's back in congratulations, all she could think about was whether or not this was really worth it, and if they would accept her. She'd have to take on a whole new personality, a whole new life.

"Welcome aboard, mate."

A familiar man shook her hand, and she was dragged away to begin her dangerous plight.

She slowly wore on a cyan long-sleeved shirt, followed by a brown vest, and slipped her quiver over her head, strapped it to her hip, grabbed her bow, and made her way outside into the glaring sunlight.

"Ah, he's finally awake. Get over here, son, we need to start drills as early as possible to beat the CRAP out of the other team as best we can."

Lord, what was going to happen to her?


	2. Training Under Suspicion

**A/N: 'Ey, I'm back, y'all, and what a treat I have in store for you guys. ;3**

**This is my very first Team Fortress 2 fanfiction, so I'm sorry if I misplace any important (or not) information that should be changed. **

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Team Fortress 2, any of its characters (except Archer), Steam, or Valve. **

**On with the story! Kukuku. ;3**

* * *

"**Alright, let's see what you've got, maggot!**"

Without hesitation, he corrected his stance, lifted his arms, and sucked in a deep breath, a single drop of sweat rolling down his temple, making its way to the tip of his eyebrow.

_Twang_. The sound of a bowstring being released as an arrow flew through the air, never missing its target. _Snap!_ The arrow rips through the wooden frame of the target, landing with a _thonk_ five feet away. Bullseye.

The Archer slowly lowered his bow, eyes narrowed in concentration, his mouth pressed into a thin line behind his ashen-white mask. He could sense, without even looking, the looks of shock and amazement on his comrades' faces.

"Holy crap, man! That was friggin' _awesome_!" cried a familiar Bostonian voice, which belonged to the Scout, who looked on with his buddies, the Heavy, Demoman, Pyro, Engineer, and the Soldier, who were rooted to their spots in sheer astonishment at the rookie's feat.

"'Is not possible!"

"Wow!"

"Hudda hudda!" mumbled the Pyro in exasperation through his thick gas mask, normally unable to speak clearly, though everyone knew what he said.

"Damn, that was… Whoa." The Engineer involuntarily adjusted his helmet and cleared his throat, wearily shifting his position, imagining what that one arrow could have done to him, let alone a wooden target.

The Archer gripped his large bow with two hands and turned to face them, his cheeks burning up in embarrassment. He started to speak, remembering to lower his voice about an octave than normal. "Aw, come on, guys, it was nothing. You should see me when I'm being serious!"

Not too far away, the Spy leaned against the wall of a nearby building, taking a long drag out of his cigarette, watching on as Archer practiced with the other members of the BLU team. He let out a soft "hmph", tilting his head as a smirk threatened to pull at his lips. He knew his secret. He would be sure to-

"They still goin' at it, mate?"

The Spy turned his glance in annoyance towards the familiar, Australian voice that had so rudely interrupted his thoughts, his gold-tinted sunglasses shone in the sunlight, his feet trudging towards the Frenchie, his hands shoved in his pockets. It was the Sniper.

"Oui. They have been 'going at it' for a bit less than an hour now."

The Sniper cocked his head to the side. "Why don'tchya join 'em?"

The Spy sneered. "I, unlike them, am a professional. I have no need to engage in meager "practice" with the likes of them."

"But we're on the same team-"

"Oui, Sniper, we may be on the same team, but that doesn't mean I have to enjoy their company. Now, leave me be. You know how I feel when I am disturbed during a smoke."

The bushman shrugged and turned on his heel, treading towards his other pals, who, at the moment, were urging Archer to shoot another arrow, but with little success. The "little bugger", as the Sniper put it, was quite a shy one. Being not much older than the Scout had its advantages and disadvantages. For one thing, everyone thought you were really unskilled, and had absolutely no chance of kicking any kind of butt during missions. But boy, did the Archer prove them wrong.

The Sniper stopped mid-step, and momentarily removed his hat, fanning his face, which had a thin sheen of sweat from the day's work. He lifted a hand to run it through his forehead, wiping away some perspiration that collected through the hours. "Alright, mates, time to hit the sack. It was real challengin' work today, and I know we all need some shut-eye." The bushman sneered in annoyance as groans, complaints, and soft mutters filled the air, but with a sharp command, they quickly scattered, all but the Archer, who stood, frozen in disoriented shock. Sniper sighed and walked towards him, placing a hand on his small shoulder. "Come on. I'll show you to your room." With a nod, the Archer walked alongside him as they made it past (what it seemed like) endless hallways, corridors, and corners, until they finally made it to his room. The Sniper took a hold of the knob and with a turn, opened the mahogany door and gently pushed the boy inside.

"We expect you up and early every mornin' at seven o'clock sharp for practice. Sleep well."

"W-Wait!"

And with that, the door was shut and the bedroom was bathed in moonlight.


	3. Denied Revelation

The all-too-familiar sound of an alarm blasted throughout the base, the Announcer's voice ringing through nine of the BLU team's ears.

"**INTRUDER ALERT, INTRUDER ALERT**! **A ****RED SPY ****IS IN THE BASE**!"

The Engineer added the final touches on his Sentries and grinned in satisfaction, while the Soldier grabbed his helmet and his signature weapon, his missile blaster, running off toward the medic bay to prepare. Demoman stuffed a grenade between his teeth, his one eye narrowed in determination, while Heavy broke through his bedroom door using "Sasha", his beloved gun, and Medic pulled his gloves onto his hands and fed his favorite pet dove, Archimedes. Scout was off doing God-knows-what, and Pyro tested his flamethrower. Sniper tucked his kukri into his belt and loaded his, well, sniper, while Spy was nowhere to be found. It was chaos for the BLU's, seeing that this was their first-ever mission since the new recruits came in, including their latest.

The Archer's eyes slowly peeled open, his mouth slack against his pillow, barely able to process anything at that one moment. Bright sunshine poured through the window right above his bed onto his eyes, causing him to let out a groan and throw his arm over his face. Several loud slams on his door and Soldier's voice: "**HURRY UP, MAGGOT**! **A ****RED SPY ****IS IN THE BASE**! **WE HAVE TO PROTECT THE BRIEFCASE**!" made him scramble to sit up and result in him falling off the bed itself.

For a moment, he forgot his situation and yelled in his normal, feminine voice, "OW! God… Dammit!"

The Sniper, coincidentally enough, had ran past his door in a hurry right as she cried out and skidded to a stop, not believing his ears. "Archer? Is there someone in there with you?!"

The Archer widened his eyes and quickly gathered his things with his back to the door, throwing his usual bale of arrows over his torso and gathered his long, brownish-black hair up into a messy bun, using the string of his mask as a headband and slipping it onto his burning, red face, stammering, "N-No! I was just listening to the radio! I-I'll be out in a second!" He was barely aware of the faint scent of smoke making its way around the room and soft footsteps nearing towards him, the quiet _shink_ of a blade preparing for action.

"No need."

Time stood still. He straightened up, his pupils dilating and a single breath escaping his lips. His hand twitched toward his belt for his knife, and he whirled around, slicing through the air, set on making its mark. The RED Spy stepped back with a more-or-less blank expression, calmly waiting for an opening before slashing at the Archer's face, causing him to jerk back and sweep a hand over his cheek, looking down at it momentarily to catch that familiar, red liquid running down his palm. He gritted his teeth in rage and charged at the Frenchman, clashing knives with him before he was shoved straight through the bedroom door and slammed against the wall, the RED Spy's knife pressed roughly against his neck, the ear-piercing alarm having faded into a dull ambiance and nothing but the two men's heavy breathing coarse in the air. The Archer's pure-white mask had darkened from all the dust brought up during their tussle, and his hair tumbled past his shoulders, down his back in slightly matted curls.

"Heh. You fight pretty well…" The Frenchman shrewdly complimented him, continuing to add pressure until a trickle of blood surfaced against the Archer's skin, making him whimper. He lifted his arms to roughly claw at the hand threatening to end his life.

"… For a _girl_."

The Archer's eyes widened to their limit in disbelief.

How the hell did he…?

"**NO**!" he cried in rage and tore from his grasp, pulling his arm back to slam his fist against the RED Spy's face, both a satisfying yet horrifying crack filling his ears as the French assassin's head lolled back, his legs keeling over and his arms going limp, his idle body falling to the metallic floor, a small pool of blood forming near his scalp.

The Archer breathed slowly, his hand throbbing in terrible pain as his body told him that his knuckles were broken. He swore, viciously, and then roughly picked up the unconscious man underneath him and adjusted him on his shoulder, a soft grunt passing through his lips. Slowly, yet surely, he began his way towards the rest of his team, his willpower forcing him to continue the whole way there.

By the time he got to the door, he was panting heavily and his muscles were about to give up on him. He turned the knob and looked on in utter relief as nine heads turned to look at him, joy spreading through their features. All he could hear were footsteps running towards him and faint voices calling him by his profession, which was the only thing they knew, before he blacked out.

_The only thing they'd ever really know._


	4. Dream or Memory?

"That was a nice shot, Sniper."

"Thanks, mate."

"Yeh, that was al'rite. But I bet'chya I can do better!"

Keith had been practicing archery with a few of his friends, who were slightly mischievous but didn't get into a lot of trouble. The one who complimented Keith, Ed, or "Engie", as others called him (because of his love of engineering), was 18-years-old, born and bred in Houston, Texas. He always wore a safety helmet which blocked his eyes, making people wonder how he was able to see, but they never questioned him directly. Standing next to him and silently puffing on a cigarette was Henry, who was born in Paris, France but decided to travel to America in his early childhood to have better opportunities at life. At 17-years-old, he had quite the attitude. A ski-mask worn over his face, his love of being sneaky, and wielding a small knife earned him the nickname, "Spy". His accent was clear as day, and it made Engie laugh, much to Henry's displeasure. And standing at the end of the group was 15-year-old Michael, or "Scout", as they called him, because of his consistent hyperactivity, speed, and agility. He was raised in Boston, Massachusetts, and the accent showed. He always carried a baseball bat and wore a cap, even when no one was playing. He claimed that "he was always up for a challenge, no matter the sit'iation".

Just as Keith was about to slide another arrow from his quiver and adjust it on his bow, he heard his name being called out from the distance.

"_Keith, Keith!_"

"Huh?" All the men, including Spy, turned their gazes towards the source of the disruption. A small girl was running towards them at full speed, an ear-splitting grin on her small face. She skid to a stop beside them and started jumping in place. Everyone blinked, then turned towards Scout, who was grinning down at the young child.

"That's some nice speed ya' got on ya', girly!"

The girl barely acknowledged his existence before jumping into Keith's arms, causing him to fling his bow off to the side and wrap his arms around her, falling backwards.

"Ahah, 'ey, Sammy. What's gotten into 'ya, 'ya little buggah?"

"Could I please join you? I mean, can I shoot one, too? Can I, can I, can I, pleeeease?" Samantha begged, her whiny voice shrill and nearly torture to Engie and Henry's ears. The Bostonian young man was used to it.

"Keep your voice down, _fille_, you're getting on my nerves", muttered Henry, exhaling a cloud of smoke. Samantha glared at him, and he smirked.

Keith just smiled. "My bow might be just a tad too big for you, but hmm… How about..." He turned as best he could for a moment, reaching inside his bag. Samantha craned her neck to look, biting her lip in excitement.

"No peeking!" She gasped and clasped her hands over her eyes, squirming in anticipation.

"Ta-da!"

Samantha opened her eyes and gasped. In front of her, Keith held out a brand new bow! It was the perfect size for her petite frame, carefully carved with the wood of a maple tree, and the string looked as if it almost glistened in the sunlight. She squealed in euphoria and gladly took it from him, throwing her arms around his neck. He grunted and laughed, tightening his grip around her.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Keith! You're the best!"

"Happy birthday, sweetness."

"Grr… You're lucky I'm happy, so you can call me that for TODAY."

Keith smirked and ruffled her ever-messy hair. "I'll definitely do that."

Engie, who had his arms crossed, piped up from the side, cooing, "Aw, you two are so cute together. Why don't you get her some flowers, Snipes, or better yet, a _wedding ring_?"

"I call being the best man!" Scout exclaimed, throwing his head back in laughter. Henry scoffed and lowered his head slightly, but was unable to keep a small smirk from pulling at his lips. He flicked the cigarette bud in a random direction, and slipped his hand inside his jacket pocket to retrieve a new one.

"Eww! Why would I marry Keith?" Sammy cried, scrunching her face in disgust. Engie blinked at her, and then burst into laughter along with Scout, who was rolling on the grass, holding his sides.

Keith was now a light shade of red and lightly shoved the Texan by the face, but for some reason, he felt a slight disappointment in the deepest part of his heart. But all thought was lost as he felt a small pair of lips press against his stubbly cheek, causing his eyes to widen and his face to burn up. He could barely hear the muffled snickers of his dimwit best pals as they watched the sweet scene unfold. Sammy pulled away; averting her gaze with a tiny smile, her usually pale cheeks now a soft, rosy shade of pink.

"I mean… I'm not old enough, anyway…" She was able to mutter before she was swept off her feet and twirled. The little girl shrieked, making the Australian laugh. Engie smiled and nudged Spy and Scout, gesturing for them to leave the two lovebirds alone.

After Keith and Sammy grew tired of their silliness, they lied down on the grass and stared up at the clouds. They pointed to funny-looking ones, scary ones, and even ones that told the future. At some point, Samantha turned her head to look at her best friend and protector, who had his eyes closed and his hands behind his head.

"Keith?"

He opened an eye. "Hm?"

"Are we always going to be like this?"

He opened the other eye. "What?"

Samantha sniffled. "Is anything ever going to change?"

Keith's eyes widened in shock and he swiveled his head to stare at her small, vulnerable form.

"Of course not! What made 'ya think that all of a sudden, sweetness?"

"Well, it's just that… You're a lot older than me, and you have a job, and friends… While I'm just a dumb kid. You have a lot, while I just have you. I feel like I'm so dependent on you, and all you ever do for me is without return, and I just feel guilty all the time. So, please… Don't ever leave me."

The Australian adolescent was dumbfounded. Here he was, listening to a pre-teen speak to him as if she was his elder. He felt a smile pull up at his lips, and lifted a hand to ruffle her hair.

"You know, you're pretty smart for a twelve-year-old."

Samantha grinned, and snuggled against his chest, taking in his warm scent. Pinecones. A scent she'd never, ever forget.

"I'll always be with you, Samantha. I promised."

* * *

Archer slowly sat up, rubbing his moist, sleepy eyes. He winced sharply as a pounding headache overtook him, and a strong yet gentle hand pushed against his shoulder, as if to tell him to lie back down.

"You all right, mate?"

The young man turned his head to see Sniper sitting next to him in an arm chair. They were in his room, and he wondered how they got there so soon. He felt like only minutes had passed since he blacked out.

"Yeah, I…" He began, but snapped out of it and cleared his throat, beginning again, "I mean, 'Yeah, thanks'. How long was I…?"

"About fourteen hours."

Archer blinked. "Oh…"

"T'sall right. Atleast you're well. Here." He reached behind him and offered Archer his mask. He took it, and tilted his head to gaze down at the white object, his bangs tumbling into his eyes. Funny, he never remembered taking it off.

"Y'know, you remind me of someone I once knew. Can't remember a name, but…" He studied him for a moment. "Do you have a sister?" Sniper asked, taking off his aviators and placing them on a nearby table.

"No, I'm an only child. And my parents died when I was in elementary school."

"Sorry to hear."

"It's okay."

Sniper stood up with a sigh, sliding his hands into his pockets. "So, you sure you're all right, mate?"

Archer tilted his head to look up at him, forcing a smile on his face. "Yes, thank you." The Australian bushman glanced down at him to give him at least a half-hearted smirk in return, but back-tracked a moment when truly caught sight of his large, emerald eyes, completely revealed (since his bangs slid to his temples).

'_KEITH!'_

"Guh!" Sniper took a step back, a hand at the side of his face as a pounding headache took over his senses, the vision nearly overwhelming him.

"Sniper, are you okay?!" Archer called out to him, nearly jumping out of his skin instead of off the bed as he kneeled beside the older man, staring down at him in worry and panic.

"Agh… I'm… I'm fine. No need to get all riled up." He rubbed his temples, blindly reaching for his aviators and slowly attempting to stand, yet, at the same time, unconsciously leaning against Archer. The bowman slightly widened his eyes as a familiar, warm scent hit his nostrils.

'_Pinecones…?'_

"U-Um… Here." He grabbed Sniper by the arm and pulled him up, steadying him on his feet. His face began to grow warm, though he didn't know why. He gave him his sunglasses without a second thought. Sniper gently pushed him away and stepped towards the door, straightening his vest.

"Thank you. Now, if you say you're alright, I best be on my way. I have things to take care of, y'know?" He turned his head halfway to meet the gaze of Archer, whose expression held one of someone hurt, or even… betrayed.

"I-I guess so…"

"Right. Well… Oh. Might I know your name?"

The young mercenary stared into the bushman's eyes for a moment, his mind blank. "Ah…" He lowered his gaze towards the wooden floor, lifting a hand to slide it through his hair, closing his eyes.

"Sa… Sam."

Sniper slightly widened his eyes, the name feeling like a splash of cold water or a slap to the face. "Sam… Well, I'll… I'll be seein' you." He lifted a hand in an attempt at a wave, then turned the knob and closed the door with a bit more force than necessary, leaving Archer to his thoughts.

He just stood there, unable to believe what had just happened.

"What the hell…"


	5. Finding Each Other Again

"**LET'S DO IT!**"

The sound of gunshots, missiles fired into the air, and cries out outrage, courage, and defeat filled Archer's ears as he dashed through the clearing, his trusty bow in hand and his leather quiver rhythmically slapping against his hip. The RED team had infiltrated their side of the territory and were wreaking absolute havoc, with only one goal on their minds: the briefcase. But first, they'd have to get past the BLUs, with their badass weapons and kick-butt attitudes.

The young mercenary skidded to a stop through the dust and let out a sharp cough, breathing frantically behind his ivory mask. He narrowed his eyes and shifted them left and right through the dust, every muscle in his body live-wired into getting him out of sticky situations, especially these kinds. He looked down and grimaced as he lifted his foot, twisting it to take in the sight of that universal liquid: blood. There were countless puddles everywhere, and it sent Archer's stomach into spirals. But he continued on, looking back and forth as his comrades burst through doors and made buildings explode, while the BLU Heavy was firing away with Sasha, his deep, booming laugh almost scary to his ears.

He continued stealthily treading across the warzone, wincing in sympathy as he heard the sound of the RED Scout's bones crack loudly in his ears, then the painful, agony-filled scream that followed. After a few minutes, Archer stopped in his tracks and looked up, a wooden tower complimented with a small canopy blocking his path.

'Looks like a watchtower', he thought, tilting his head and blinking. He could have swore he saw (what seemed to be) a man standing absolutely still at the top, almost like a statue, a large gun in his hands. He appeared to be deep in concentration, but he was snapped out of his thoughts as he heard a rather close-by gunshot, which limited his options. The young, inexperienced mercenary cursed under his breath.

"Run for it or climb?"

**Boom**.

"Climb."

And Archer did just that, grabbing the wooden supports and scrambling up the tower for dear life. Panting heavily under the hot sun and desperately wanting to rip that damn mask off his face, he threw his arms over the side of the canopy and pulled the top half of himself over it, sweat rolling down his temples. He was about to balance himself and climb over when a distant explosion caused a small earthquake, resulting in him loosening his grip and letting out a cry of desperation. He was about to lose all hope, but was saved by a gloved hand grabbing his own and pulling him to his feet.

"Y'alright, mate?"

Archer looked up and gazed into one of the most chilling, sky-blue eyes he'd ever have to look at in his life, but the sincerely worried voice almost convinced him otherwise. Of course Sniper would always help him out. He was the closest thing to a friend he had in this place, full of war, and guns, and... well, men.

"I-I'm fine..." he stuttered, rubbing his arm, then remembering what he came up here for in the first place and grabbed his bow, feeling for an arrow in his quiver. He was just about to push the arrow into place when he heard a chuckle. He turned his head, cocking his eyebrows in question.

The bushman raised the scope to his eyes and waited for a moment, before pulling the trigger, the "splurch" of blood escaping the body and a pained shriek signifying his success.

"I can tell this is ye' first-ever mission, so listen closely. Killing people ain't funny biz'ness, and I know how you can be. You seem small, you seem timid, but if you're focused enough-"

_Twang._

"AHHHHH, IT'S IN MY EYE! DEAR GOD, GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT!" cried the RED Soldier, who was frantically running around in panic with an arrow pierced straight through his eye, flailing his arms with no care and eventually ending up in his demise by dropping his missile blaster under his feet and stepping on the trigger, basically shooting himself.

Sniper watched the whole scene unfold with complete disbelief, slowly turning his head with the same expression, eyes wide through his aviators. Archer let out a small giggle, then cleared his throat, momentarily jerking his eyes towards the flabbergasted Australian, who couldn't do anything but stare.

"What?"

"Did... Did ya' just do that?"

"Well, yeah. What, you didn't think I was that unskilled, did you?" snided the bowman, shooting Sniper a small smirk with pride.

"Actually, yeh. You seemed totally hopeless last time, with that French wankah."

Archer spluttered, then slipped his bow over his head and delivered a punch to the laughing bushman on his shoulder, slightly annoyed but about to laugh along with him.

"Shut up! I'm better than you, that's for sure!"

"Oh, really? Well, let's see about that."

Sniper lifted his gun and peered through the scope, smirking when he found his next target. "Gotcha."

But it was all for naught. Archer beat him to it with a single arrow, the RED Pyro falling over with a loud "thud", hands over his, er, extremities, his muffled wails of pain echoing through the desert war zone. The BLU Heavy laughed as hard as he could, throwing his arms around his middle and tilting his head back, nearly crying. Medic, who was standing beside him, about to Ubercharge, lowered his gun and snickered, gently pressing his rubber-gloved hand over his mouth.

Sniper took this as a challenge and aimed at several other REDs, but to no avail. Shot after shot, arrow after arrow, Archer had the upper hand. At some point, he was ready to give up, but he found the RED Demoman chugging down his regular bottle of XXX, totally vulnerable. He found this as the perfect opportunity and aimed carefully, his index finger twitching over the trigger.

"MISS!"

Startled, he shot without focus, causing the bullet to ricochet off the wall of a building and graze the BLU Scout's cheek, who shook his fist up at them. Sniper full-body turned towards the young mercenary beside him, absolutely livid.

"Damn it, Sam! Ya' can't let me hit one, can ya'?"

Archer grinned and crossed his arms. "Nope. Not a single one."

The Australian man sighed and shook his head, fighting a grin. "Alright, mate, I'll admit, ya' got skills. But I'm still much older and have better experience. So watch ye'self."

"Will do," chuckled the bowman, lifting his hand and pressing it against his forehead in a mocking salute. Soldier wouldn't have approved.

The several hours that followed were a bit quieter than before, allowing the two mercenaries to rest. Sniper leaned against a wall of the canopy, his arms crossed and a cigarette lazily hanging from his mouth. Archer supported himself against the edge, his head resting on the folds of his arms, a small smile on his face. It was about noon, and the sun was high in the sky. The sounds of gunshots and explosions almost lulled the young man to sleep, but he fought the drowsiness off and stood up.

"Sniper, is there anything else to do? I'm bored."

"Well, we could always find more victims to shoot at, if ya' want."

Archer bit back a chuckle and stepped back a bit before turning around to face the bushman, placing his hands on his hips.

"But that's still boring! Don't suppose there's anything else...?"

Sniper sighed and tilted his head to look up at him, then widened his eyes when he realized his position. He immediately straightened up and extended his arms, opening his mouth to yell a "NO, ARCHER, DON'T!" before another gunshot was heard.

It was too late.

Archer's face contorted from one of confusion into that of pain, feeling the familiar sensation seep into his body as blood poured from his chest. His hands rose to suspend the blood flow, but he grew limp and took a step backwards, then another one, his vision hazy.

"S-Sniper, I... I can't see..." Archer whispered, his face behind the pale mask slowly becoming the same color. He felt for wood but all he could feel was nothing, as he fell, fell, fell, his eyes closing, his breath faltering.

"**ARCHER**!"

.

.

.

.

.

Darkness. It's a feeling that very few people ever truly experience. The sensation of not knowing who, or what, is there – around you, with you, and to comfort you in your time of need. It's both comforting and heart-clenching, the single thought that nothing is there to hurt you, love you, and be close to you. That moment when you slip through the grasp of reality, unable to comprehend where you are, or what the outcome will be.

.

"Is he alright?"

"Dear God, he's bleeding so much!"

"'Ey, someone 'elp 'em!"

"MEDIC!"

"I'm rightz here, I'm rightz here... Give him to me. I'll treat him at once."

Archer could barely feel strong pressure on his chest, then his weight being shifted into another man's arms and soft footsteps through empty corridors. He felt a controlled breath gently wash over his face, the metallic smell of blood and surgical equipment nearly overwhelming his senses.

Medic placed him on the operating table and threw away his bloody pair of gloves, quickly pulling on shiny new sky-blue ones and began to assemble his tools.

"Now, let'z zee how serious this iz. I'm quite certain the bullet didn't reach your heart, but you're bleeding a bit too much, and ve muzt take care of that."

Archer's breath began to grow choppy, which began to worry the German doctor. He could have sworn he heard yelling outside, but he ignored it and took a hold of Archer's jacket and unzipped it, throwing it aside, then grabbed his shirt at the collar with both hands, and tore it down the middle as fast as he could, slowly widening his eyes as more and more of the young man's chest was revealed. He eventually dropped his hands, almost taking a step back as he stared, the torn fabric fluttering to the floor.

"What... What on Earth...?" mumbled Medic, narrowing his eyes in disbelief.

Archer's chest was already tightly bandaged, fresh blood slowly pouring from his recent gunshot wound. There had been no way they could have wrapped the gauze around him so quickly in the time elapsed between his fall and his trip to the medical bay, and this caught Medic's attention. He lifted a hesitant hand and gently felt the bowman's chest, earning a soft moan.

Medic cocked his head to the side and removed his glasses, a quite perplexed expression on his face.

"Did the bullet cause his chest to... swell?"

He felt Archer's chest tighten and could've sworn his own heart stopped at that moment.

"Oh, mein God... It can't be..."

The Medic immediately grabbed his best pair of surgical scissors and cut through the bandages, pulling them away as fast yet as carefully as he could, a sharp gasp cutting through his lips. He took a step back as he heard Archer start to come back into consciousness.

"M-Medic... W-What's going on...? I can't... I can't... breathe..." he whispered hoarsely, his throat burning like fire, his lungs refusing to work.

The poor doctor was rooted to the spot, his forehead growing damp with sweat. What on Earth could he do? Here he was, about to treat one of his teammates, or... so he thought.

The did the only thing he could think of: he grabbed Archer's mask and pulled it off to allow him to breathe, resulting in him almost having a heart attack.

The young mercenary's long-lashed eyes fluttered open - a striking shade of green, Medic noted - and he slowly sat up, putting a hand on his head.

"Ah... My head... Wait, why am I here...?" Archer jerked his head and looked around in alarm, realizing that the familiar weight on her face was gone and there was a breeze around his torso, and he widened his eyes. "Oh, no..."

"**YOU'RE A WOMAN!**" Medic exclaimed, thrusting a gloved finger in his, well... her direction, true shock and outrage in his eyes.

Archer let out a yelp in surprise and covered her bare chest, turning red to the face and desperately fearing for her life. The next thing she knew, the German doctor, whom she had trusted with everything she had, grabbed a scalpel and raised it over her head, ready to end her. She threw her arms in front of her, tears threatening to overflow.

"**NO!**"

* * *

Sniper had been a nervous wreck ever since Archer was shot. He was the one who nearly jumped out of his skin, rather than down the canopy railing, to see if he was alright. He didn't understand why he was so protective of the young man (noting how he had almost strangled Scout for trying to give him CPR when he was clearly in need of some fresh air), but he shook his head, dismissing it as false kindness. He removed his sunhat and ran a hand through his already-disheveled hair, walking back and forth outside of Medic's ER.

"I see you haven't gotten any rest."

Sniper turned to see Spy casually leaning against the wall beside him, a cigarette loosely hanging from his gloved fingers, a faint puff of smoke escaping his nostrils as he exhaled.

"Yeh. I just... wanted to check up on the lil' guy, that's all."

He scowled when he heard a faint chuckle.

"Wha'? I can't be worried about my own teammate? Or are you just that cruel that you're laughin' at his misery? He could be dead!"

"It's not that. Medic is our finest doctor. But have you ever truly looked upon him?" considered Spy, cocking his head to the side, as if to emphasize his question. He sighed when he caught the Australian's face slightly twist in confusion.

"Keith, are you really that blind? Does he not look familiar? … If I can even call him a 'he'."

"What are you blabbering about, Henry? Enough with the mind games, you're gettin' on my nerves." growled Sniper, clenching his fists. This Frenchy was really starting to tick him off.

"Tch. You really lost your sense of inhibition."

"DAMN IT, SPY, TELL ME!"

"_Archer is a woman, you idiot_."

* * *

Samantha wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, curling up tighter as she sat near the campfire, if that was even possible. It was Christmas Eve, and she, Keith, Henry, Ed, and Michael spent it outside, in the snow, with a small fire to keep them warm. Ed was cranking away at a new project of his, while Michael was busy throwing his favorite vintage baseball up in the air and whacking it in a random direction, and Henry quietly sang French holiday tunes. Samantha was sitting between Keith's slightly bent legs, quickly breathing to keep her body temperature up. She was mesmerized at how steam flowed through her lips every time she exhaled. Keith could have sworn she was a human armadillo with that giant scarf bundled up around her neck.

"You cold?" he asked sarcastically, wrapping his arms around her. He felt her tense muscles quickly relax, and a smile pulled at his lips.

"Not anymore, thank you." she replied, closing her eyes and leaning her head against his shoulder. His cheeks began to warm up and he heard faint chuckling behind him. He rolled his eyes at his buddies and leaning to the side to rest his cheek on the top of her head.

"WATCH OUT!"

In the blink of an eye, Michael's baseball was flying straight towards Samantha, and Keith reacted instantly, gently shoving her to the ground, but he miscalculated and ended up falling on top of her, eyes wide and muscles coiled.

Samantha stared up at him in shock, her cheeks flooding with color. He couldn't tell if it was because of the cold, or... something else.

"You alright, sweetness?" he asked her with a worried tone, panting slightly. She responded with a nod and smiled, her beautiful green eyes catching his attention, as they always did.

"I'm fine, thanks, Keith..." she whispered, slowly closing her eyes and slowly lifting her head towards him.

He leaned forward, also, holding his breath as their lips pressed against each other's in a sweet kiss.

Samantha pulled away with a soft giggle, and Keith touched his forehead to hers, opening his tingling mouth to speak.

"Merry Christmas, Sammy."

* * *

"**NO! SAMANTHA!**"

"My, ain't she a beauty? Hit her harder, she's still breathing."

Another blow.

Another cry of pain. Agony. Desperation.

A plea for help.

"Get... your hands off of her!"

The RED Engineer had Samantha pinned to the ground by her wrists, a twisted, malicious grin on his face as he took away her innocence, the RED Scout, Soldier, and Demoman acting as spectators and telling him what to do. Tears streamed down her face with each thrust, a cut on her forehead causing fresh blood to ooze into her bangs and down her temples, and violet bruises having blossomed like flowers on almost every inch of her once beautiful skin. Keith watched, helplessly, as they ravaged his love, using her for their own sick pleasure. He grit his teeth and crawled forward, yelling profanities and curses to both them and God for what they had done.

"SHUT UP!" roared the Soldier, lifting his leg, and with a near-fatal kick to his head, everything went black.

The last thing he saw was Samantha receiving a punch to the face, which knocked her out, too, and she went limp, the light in those unforgettable green eyes of her's slowly fading away.

"_I love you..._"

* * *

With a sharp gasp, Sniper returned back to the present, throwing an arm up to his head to try and suppress the terrible migraine he had just received due to the visions. Spy had patiently watched him as he remembered everything, his cigarette having long been put out. Amazingly, he hadn't had the urge for another one.

"Do you understand now? She was with us... this whole time. Samantha was with us." he whispered, gazing into Sniper's shocked eyes. He fought back a small smile as he and the bushman whirled around and burst into the ER, stopping short in horror as they found Medic standing over Samantha, a scalpel raised high in his hand, ready to kill her.

"**NO!**" Sniper yelled out, dashing towards the German doctor and grabbing his arm, forcing him to drop the scalpel, and twisting his body to give him a good punch to the face, smirking with pride as he flew back, hitting against the countertop, momentarily blacking out. Spy bent down to check his pulse, then stood up, nodding in reassurance that he was alright.

Samantha, his Samantha, just sat there, her gorgeous, green eyes widened at them and her shoulders shaking like a leaf of the exact same color, her arms tightly wrapped around her torso. Keith felt his heart tear into a million pieces at the sight of someone once so fiery, so strong, become so vulnerable and defenseless. He removed his jacket and threw it around her shoulders, pulling his hands away so she would take the hint to grip the welcomed fabric by the collar. She gazed down for a moment before looking up at him, that familiar blush on her cheeks having returned.

"Keith...?"

He smiled at her and picked her up bridal-style, carrying her out of the ER. Spy followed alongside him, gently taking the shaken girl's hand into his. She slightly turned her head to look up at him, tilting her head.

"Henry?"

The Frenchman smiled and softly placed his lips to her hand.

"Oui. We've missed you, Samantha." he muttered, chuckling as he felt Keith's grip on her tighten, and his lips pull up in a faint growl. She froze for a moment in his arms, inhaling deeply and biting her lip as she remembered, as well, hot tears running down her cheeks. Pinecones, as always.

Keith and Henry passed through the millions of the same-old corridors, looking around to make sure no one had followed them or noticed her in his arms, and stopped in front of her room. Henry slowly turned the knob and entered, pausing for a moment as Keith gently placed her on her bed, grabbing a chair and sitting down next to her. Everyone froze as they heard swift footsteps coming their way, along with a high-spirited whistle. Suddenly, the door swung open and Scout leaned in through the doorway, sporting a giant grin.

"It's almost time for dinner! The others were just wonderin' where ya' guys-" he opened his eyes and stopped short, eyes wide. Keith jumped from his chair and stepped in front of the sitting girl on the mattress, arms slightly raised in defense.

"Michael, this isn't what it looks like."

Samantha gasped, an incredulous look on her face. "Michael...?" She jumped from the bed and walked towards him, her face now entirely feminine. Scout took a step back, almost looking afraid. She cocked her head to the side for a moment in thought, then her face lit up.

"Michael, it's me! Samantha!"

The Bostonian just stared at her for a moment, as if she was crazy, then threw his arms around her waist and twirled her around, laughing joyfully.

"Sammy, I can't believe it! How long has it been?!"

She laughed and returned the embrace, much to Keith's chagrin, but she knew he'd understand. It was a happy reunion, after all. "Probably about ten years."

"Ho-ly shit..." he lifted his baseball cap and scratched his scalp, then set it back into place. He started hearing voices and turned his head towards the door, swallowing in nervousness.

"Hey, listen, I gotta run... But look, I'll cover for ya'. 'Kay?"

Henry peeled himself from the wall and stood besides Michael, his arms crossed. "I do believe I must make an exit, myself. I have much work to attend to. So, Keith, I leave her to you."

Samantha turned her head towards the Australian behind her, watching as his face slowly reddened. She finally understood and giggled, hiding behind the jacket. With a nod, their two comrades left the room, gently shutting the door behind them. She let out a small sigh, then a squeak when she felt Keith's pair of strong arms encircle her waist, and press her against him.

"Ten years, hm? You've been keeping me waiting for quite a long time."

Unable to mutter comprehensible sentences, she merely turned her head to the side and whispered a "Mhm". He leaned down and began kissing her neck, causing her eyelids to flutter shut and a soft moan escape her lips. She whirled around and pressed her lips to his, tangling her fingers in his hair, while his hands slid down her body, cupping her buttocks, as she gently pushed him in the direction of her mattress.

He happily complied.

.

_Flushed bodies entangled in the moonlight._

_A nip here, a tug there._

_A moan._

_An empty hand, gently caressing and tugging at the sheets absentmindedly, only to be filled with a much larger one, fingers intertwining. _

_The sweet sigh of release._

_._

As Samantha lay nude and asleep beside Keith, he stared up at the ceiling, unable to control a large smile on his face. The love of his life had finally returned to him in an unexpected turn of events.

As he felt sleep pull him underneath its surface, he knew that Fate truly had something in store for him.


End file.
